In her Service
by Littlescribe
Summary: Constance recovers from the events in Emilie's camp with assistance from the musketeers..
1. Chapter 1

In her Service:

All belongs to the BBC. Any feedback, good, bad or indifferent happily received.

* * *

Despite her exhaustion, sleep was impossible. Memories of the last few days prevented any hope of rest. Constance found herself tripping again and again over the same frightening thoughts - that long night in the camp, the terror of her dreams, the threat to the Queen and the slow, painful cleansing of Emilie's tormented brain in the darkest of palace dungeons. Three nights since the Queen's safe return to Paris and still, Constance could not sleep.

Surrendering to the restlessness, Constance rose. She dressed quickly, wrapping her warmest robe around her before slipping from her small bedchamber. Across the hallway, outside the Queen's apartment, two young sentries stirred at the sight of her. Rising, they eyed her in askance.

"I cannot sleep," She settled for the simplest explanation. "Is the Queen well?"

"Mademoiselle de Chalon is with her," the guard nodded toward the door, "She reports the Queen sleeps peacefully."

Constance was glad to hear it. The young queen had been under considerable strain for weeks. Queen Anne had mulled over every possible outcome of Emilie's populist rising and felt certain it could only end in bloodshed. Being who she was, the queen was moved to act. Her ordeal was considerable and hidden, for the King would insist on Emilie's head were he to learn of her threat to hang the queen. Constance was warmed to know that the monarch, at least, could find comfort in sleep.

She glanced away, "I'm going to take a short walk."

"Madame," the younger sentry stirred uneasily. "It is just after midnight. I could summon a guard to escort you."

"I appreciate your concern," Constance reached for the small lantern by her door, "All I require however is some night air and solitude gentlemen, the fresh chill will quickly aid my sleep. Besides," she smiled brightly, her tone brooking no dissent. "I shan't be long." Constance moved away, unwilling to chatter. She needed to be alone.

* * *

The palace gardens were beautifully silent. Constance walked through them, slipping her soft shoes off, enjoying the dewy grass tickling her feet beneath. She rested when she reached the Queen's small garden. Pulling her robe closer, Constance sank to the grass, tilted back against a small marble bench for support and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the panic that rippled through her. Out here, in the silence of the night, she had vaguely hoped for tranquillity. Instead, her body felt like an enemy, her breathing fast and shallow, redness invading her senses, dreams of blood, Emilie's cries mingling with the memories of her own. Constance covered her hands with her face and willed herself to calm.

* * *

The cold lured her into nightmares. Murky, dark images taunted her, shadows and grey apparitions swirled around her prone form, mocking, warning, and promising. There were other noises now, not noises, voices...

They intruded her consciousness and she woke, disorientation hitting. Constance stirred from her position. Lying on the ground, her hair was damp now, her hands clutching grass. Constance rose jerkily, glancing around to recall her surroundings, the garden, the bench behind which supported her now as she sat upon it and smoothed her hair from her face. The voices came closer. She frowned in tired thought, she heard her name called, knew those voices, one in particular. Constance raised her eyes in confusion, "D'Artagnan?"

There was a rustling nearby, grass muffled footsteps and then D'Artagnan himself emerged from the hedgerow, concern etched on his face. He advanced on her quickly, his hands reaching for her. "Constance," the musketeer kneeled, scanning her for any sign, she guessed, or harm or misfortune. "You're alright?" He waited for her slow nod, and then called out into the darkness, "I have her."

The others materialised from the night, their features lit by lanterns. Aramis found them first. He strode purposefully toward them, drawing to a sharp halt as he surveyed the dishevelled woman. Porthos was a step behind. He arrived in characteristic fashion, silent, alert and utterly intent. His glance darted around the small clearing, at his two fellow musketeers and then slowed to rest speculatively on Constance herself.

Finally, Athos. The musketeer appeared from the blackness, each movement fluid and measured, his face guarded. He raised his lantern, surveyed Constance carefully and nodded at D'Artagnan.

"She is well?" Athos asked with a calm Constance envied. In this moment, she felt anything but calm. She was muddled and cold, so very cold. Aramis was behind her now. He moved briskly, tugging her wet robe from her, replacing it with the welcome warmth of his thick coat.

"I think so," D'Artagnan said, his eyes not leaving her.

Constance found her voice. "She is fine," she said, shrugging free from D'Artagnan's light grasp. His touch, above all others, unsettled her in endless ways. She waited until D'Artagnan eased back and rose reluctantly to his feet. Constance pulled her eyes away from him and shot a look around the clearing. "What are you all doing here?"

"One might ask you the same question," Aramis said, rounding on her. He sat beside her and eyed her searchingly. "Where have you been? Half of the palace is looking for you."

"Looking for me?" Constance struggled to understand, "I took a short walk…"

Across the garden, Porthos snorted, clearly unimpressed with that response. "A short walk? Its 4am you've been missing half the night. The palace authorities tend to panic when one of the Queen's companions disappears out of sight. We," he nodded at his fellow musketeers, "are just one search party."

Constance stared at him uncomprehendingly. She shook her head slightly, her eyes slipping instinctively to D'Artagnan. "That cannot be."

"The Queen's sentries were concerned when you didn't return," he said gently, "We've been looking for you."

"Where were you?" Athos asked abruptly.

Constance turned to him. "Here," she said stiltedly, "I came out for some air, I must have" she felt foolishness engulf her, "fallen asleep."

Athos complete attention was focused on her now, "No harm came to you?"

Constance shook her head, "No, I'm fine. I feel silly. It has been…" She glanced at Aramis, "An unsettling few days." Emotions flitted across Aramis's face. Empathy, kindness, sorrow? Fleeting hints of the heart beneath the armour, Constance knew and for a breath, she ached for the burdens the musketeer carried. The moment passed and Aramis reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "All is well," he said warmly, "All that matters is that you are safe and unharmed."

Constance nodded. She rose to her feet and watched as the musketeers watched her carefully. "Relax," she said, in half irritation. "I'm fine."

They looked entirely unconvinced.

"I am," she insisted.

"I'd believe you," Porthos said gruffly, "If we hadn't just found you sleeping in a palace garden in the middle of the night. I think I'd feel better if you were at least drunk."

Constance began to object, falling silent as she recognised worry settling in D'Artagnan's gaze, discomfort in Aramis's forced smile. Their concern was apparent. She glanced past them to Athos. He stood a little apart, a hand resting on his belt and was, she knew from experience, absorbing every detail, every movement and glance. There was no hiding from his scrutiny. There was no kindness there, no warmth, no concern, his gaze was demanding, unrelenting. A companion of the Queen must have a better explanation for such behaviour. The musketeer wanted to know what it was.

Constance shrugged in surrender. "I haven't slept since we left Emilie's camp. At all."

There was an instant shift in atmosphere. Tension eased from the men, as they glanced from one to another. Happy now that no physical harm had come to her, that no malevolent intruder required their particular brand of intervention, the musketeers relaxed and mulled over this revelation.

"I'm not some sort of hysterical woman," Constance said hotly, ignoring the slightly bemused expression settling on Portho's face. She eyed him warningly, "I'm not."

Porthos raised gloved hands placating, "I wouldn't dream of suggesting such a thing."

Athos glanced at Aramis, an eyebrow raised in question. Aramis shrugged in agreement. "Good point," he grimaced "I should have guessed this might happen."

Irritation growing, Constance looked from one to the other, "What might happen?"

"The soup," Athos said evenly.

Constance caught their meaning. "I had one bowl of broth." she began.

"You drank from the same bowl as Emilie," Athos said, "You experienced her dreams. Perhaps we should have prepared you for some residual effects."

"Effects?"

"Yes," Atho's countenance changed, a slight softening as his eyes dragged slowly over her taut face, "Sleep disturbance, exhaustion, unease, nightmares." He watched her flinch at the mention of the dark dreams. His voice gentled with reassurance "It will be pass."

* * *

Vague relief nipped at her thoughts. This was an explanation, a logical reasoning of the distress that had tugged at her over the last few days. Constance considered it, her stomach lurching as she worked Atho's theory through to a natural conclusion.

"You think I'm going mad?" Constance said, bluntly. "Emilie mad?"

Athos smiled. "You did just have one bowl and I see no evidence of an army rising around you."

"Unless an army of midgets count," Porthos said from behind, swiping at some night insect.

"You are more likely to rest in the palace," Athos said, waving the lantern toward the path, "Shall we?"

Constance nodded in slow agreement, tension easing for the first time in days, as sinking into the warmth of her new coat, she followed Athos, the others pacing behind. Athos was right, a few days and she would be back to herself. All would be well, unless...

She paused at a particularly dark thought, wincing as the wall of armour that was Porthos walked into her from behind.

"Constance..."

She rounded on them suspiciously. "Hang on a minute," Constance tugged the lantern from a still confused Porthos. He yielded it to her and Constance lifted it up, watching as the light flickered against four attentive faces. "He," she jerked the lantern sharply at Aramis, "is a master of deception in this type of business, how do I know you four aren't planning to lure me into a dungeon and well," she frowned, struggling for the right word, "de-soup me?"

There was momentary silence. Porthos broke it, with an amused laugh. "De-soup you? Is that the technical term?"

"Yes," Constance said fiercely, suddenly aware that she was boxed in by a tall Musketeer on every side, "Just so we are all clear, I'm not going anywhere near a dungeon. Understood?"

The four men exchanged amused glances.

"Trust me, Madame Bonacieux, had we been charged to escort you to a dungeon tonight," Aramis said in feigned gravity, "we would have brought the whole garrison with us." Mirth lightened his expression "That might have given us some hope of success in containing you."

Constance heard the affection in his mocking tone, but she was tired, snappy and if she thought about long enough, more than a little embarrassed to be found sleeping in a garden. "Once that's clear," she said sharply, flinging the lantern back to Porthos and marching on with grim intent. She ignored Porto's muttered comment that nobody need worry, it seemed perfectly clear to him that Madame Bonacieux would make a complete recovery.

* * *

"Aramis," Constance began to wriggle free from the rumpled leather warmth "your coat."

The musketeer bowed gallantly, returning her own damp robe. "Keep it, Madame. I shall retrieve it in the morning."

D'Artagnan was beside her, impossibly close. "I'll walk you to your quarters," he murmured.

"No," Constance said, a sharpness in her tone. She saw the instant flash of hurt in him and she tried again, her voice gentled, "It wouldn't be wise, D'Artagnan."

A thousand explanations.

_I have so little strength around you, your touch feels fundamental, vital, as essential as breathing. I could not judge the Queen or Aramis, I understand all too well the pull of a person, the draw of you. We cannot be alone._

Words would never sum up her feeling for this man. Nothing could explain the utter unalterable truth of her heart. Distance was the only protection for them.

"Don't," Constance said, as D'Artagnan's expression darkened, old arguments she knew, on his lips. "Please, just don't." She rested a hand against his doublet, "I'm fine now."

Beside them, Athos shifted. "I'll accompany you," he said with quiet authority. He shook his head at her murmured protest and too tired to argue with all of them, Constance nodded in weary agreement. Athos glanced at the youngest musketeer, "Let the palace captain know Constance is safe." There was a pause, then movement. Aramis tipped his hat in farewell; Porthos slapped D'Artagnan lightly on the shoulder, stirring him.

"I'm glad you are well, Constance," Porthos said, shoving D'Artagnan on.

"As am I," D'Artagnan said, his brown eyes deepening with thought. He nodded briefly, bowed gently and took his departure, leaving Constance in the sole company of Athos. Athos proffered an arm and weariness sinking into her bones, Constance accepted it gratefully.

"I should apologise," Athos said, as they walked up the long corridor which led to the Queen's apartments. "I thought little of asking you to care for Emilie; you had been through an ordeal yourself. I should not have insisted upon your help."

"I was happy to help;" Constance said quietly, "Emilie needed help. She just didn't know it at the time."

"An affliction which you too have suffered from in recent days," Athos said, a hint of grim in his voice.

Constance inwardly winced. She had known, once the fuss died down, that the musketeers would make their opinion of her visit to Emilie's camp with the Queen known. She paused and rounded on him, lifting her eyes to his.

"You're angry with me."

"I was."

"On what grounds?"

Athos nodded thoughtfully and stepped closer, overwhelmingly close. "You allowed the Queen to walk both of you toward an almost certain death, Constance. You alerted no one to her plan. That angers me."

Heat warmed her face. "You think I should have told you."

"It was your duty to do so." Atho's gaze was merciless, his voice clipped and certain. "If it weren't for the influence of Aramis, you would both be dead. Do you consider that serving your Queen?"

"Don't try to browbeat me, Athos." Constance pushed him, watching as he stepped back. "Don't you think I tried to talk her out of it? Don't you think I wanted to tell you or the others? I am her confidante." Constance released a frustrated breath and much to her annoyance, she felt angry tears spring to her eyes. "Every other day, some politician or man in power tries to convince me to share the Queen's secrets and confidences. Well, I won't do it. Even if it does mean I walk with her like a pair of blithering idiots into a camp of crazy fanatics, I cannot break her confidence," Defiance lit on her face, "I gave her my word."

Athos stared down at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He shook his head slightly and looked away. "Constance, you are inexperienced in court life," Athos raised a hand, silencing her indignant protest. "The King and Queen are entitled to our loyalty and our protection." He frowned and returned his attention to her, "You cannot warn Queen Anne about that which she does not comprehend. She leads a cossetted life and while she has the skills of an intelligent, bright politician, she needs more than your confidence, she requires your wisdom."

"You do not defy the King's orders," Constance said pointedly, sweeping past him. "I'm simply doing the same for the Queen."

Athos grinned at her spirit and made to follow. "Perhaps, but when I follow the King into a camp of crazed fanatics, I generally have a choice of weaponry and half a garrison to protect us." He jogged to catch up with her, "I admire your loyalty but ask you to consider how your blind service protects the Queen? Could she have found her way to that camp alone? Could she have hidden her absence for so long without your assistance? You led as well as followed, Constance."

A few steps ahead, Constance paused and rounded on him. Athos recognised that twist of guilt and regret on her face, he had felt it a thousand times himself as he questioned a decision. "I say this not to trouble you," Athos continued, "But to remind you that our service must be based on wisdom." He indicated toward the Queen's corridor. "I have said enough but know this," Promise warmed his tone "Should you require help at any time, we are close to hand and will always protect the Queen and her companions. You have my word as a musketeer. "

Constance contemplated the soldier in front of her. Athos was an enigma in so many ways. Battle hardened, war weary, heart hidden, she had watched countless times as he intimidated others with a look, a word, with his very presence. The same scarred hand which rested on his sword now, had tended to Emilie with the gentle care of a nurse, had held the tormented girl tenderly as she bucked against him. Constance respected him and not for the first time this week, was suddenly very grateful for him.

She smiled in brief acknowledgement. "I am new to this, Athos."

Athos was beside her in a heartbeat, his hand reaching for her own. "I am not." Athos kissed her hand gently, "Consider me in your service Madame Bonacieux, and call on me when you need me." He half bowed, rounded and paced away, her eyes caught momentarily by his proud posture, his firm gait.

Constance stirred. Heading for her chamber, she paused to reassure the relieved sentries of her health and then slipped inside. Her small room felt comforting, safe. Wearily, she undressed quickly, carefully resting Aramis's leather coat over the chair. Relaxing into bed, Constance found herself resting, her breathing eased, her mind relaxed. She mulled over Atho's words, knew that in the kindest way, he was telling her she was out of her depth. It might have troubled her more, had the same thoughts not plagued her for much of the week, his perception aligning with her own, yet, she had no fear. There was a comfort in the knowledge that she was never alone in her duty, that whether she chose to draw upon them, she had the unwavering service of four of the King's finest men.

End of Chapter One.


	2. Chapter 2

This, Constance thought grimly as she glanced around the crowded chapel, was _precisely_ the kind of situation Athos warned her to avoid. She was supposed to befriend the queen, support her in all personal and state matters and ease the loneliness of royal life. Investigating the destitute areas of Paris suitable for a queen to visit without protection, was not, Constance reminded herself, part of her duties.

Yet earlier, in the Queen's apartments, she had found herself swayed by the persuasive young monarch.

"It was relatively easy to slip away last time Constance, we shall just exit from my private chapel as we did before."

"Your Majesty," Constance said pleadingly, "The areas you speak of are unsafe, full of the poor and destitute and those who do not respect the rule of law."

The Queen eyed her solemnly, "Then it is all the more important that I visit and see the real Paris." She turned her on her heel, her eyes trained on the landscaped gardens outside. "How can I possibly assist the King if I do not understand the lives of the people he rules? Should I always live a caged and uninformed life?"

"The King would not like it."

Anne turned with a reproving smile, "Blackmail Constance? The King is not here so we do not need to concern ourselves with his opinion."

Constance tried again. "Madame, my fears would be somewhat lessened, if you would accept a musketeer escort..."

The queen frowned at that. "Soldiers will frighten people away. If the monks know my true identity they will be reluctant to allow me too close." Anne shrugged in irritation, "They will simply present a few carefully vetted unfortunates for my viewing." Anne dropped into the window seat with a dull expression, "It will be yet another sanitised visit for Her Majesty to smile through." She glanced at the woman she considered to be her closest friend; "Constance, I simply want to feel free for a day, as I did during our trip to Emilie's camp." Her expression grew wistful, "No carriages, or splendour or guards. I felt like an ordinary woman."

"You are anything but, Madame," Constance said, ignoring the pang of sympathy that darted in her chest at the sight of a despondent Anne. The queen had proven to be a kind and fair friend and Constance didn't for one moment, envy the gilded cage in which she lived. Still, she reminded herself, this request was anything but reasonable, "and I might have sympathy for your plight, were it not for the fact that we were nearly killed in Emilie's camp." Constance smiled faintly, "I do not recall that trip with the same pleasure as you."

A smile broke across the queen's face. "As always, I appreciate your honesty but you'll find me quite determined in this matter." Rising, Anne paced to her friend, reaching for her hands, "Go to the monastery and advise them that a lady of means wishes to visit and give alms after mass in the morning. Have faith Constance," she squeezed the doubtful girls hands lightly, "It shall be an adventure."

* * *

"An adventure," Constance muttered darkly to herself, staring around the chapel. It was Saturday mass and the chapel was surrounded by the poor and the opportunistic, hoping for a coin from a worshipper's purse. She could only guess the numbers would double for Sunday mass. Constance had tried and failed to convince the queen to visit one of the central monasteries frequented by Paris's finest gentry. At least some control was kept over the begging masses there. The queen however, had heard of the devout Frere Claude and his small chapel on the outskirts of the Court of Miracles. This chapel, Anne declared, was where true ministry took place and it was there that the queen wished to make her covert visit.

Frere Claude was watching her. "Sister, have you seen enough?"

Constance smiled politely. The brother had been warm and welcoming. Little was he to know the true nature of the woman who planned to visit, but he genuinely appreciated Constance knew, any support for his ministry. She had met many important men of religion since moving to the palace, few were as truly devout and humble as this gentleman.

"I appreciate your time Frere Claude, I shall return tomorrow with my employer." Constance glanced around the chapel one last time, "Is there a discreet spot from which she might observe the service and then perhaps leave a donation for you to distribute?"

The brother nodded. "I have received such requests in the past. There is a small side alcove," he pointed to the left side of the chapel, "from which your friend can witness our service in relative privacy."

Perhaps, Constance mused a little hopefully, the queen was right. Perhaps they could visit and escape unnoticed. Queen Anne would certainly understood the true nature of life of the most unfortunate Parisians, Constance thought, her eyes dwelling on a crippled man, after a visit here.

Any confidence Constance momentarily felt disappeared once she stepped outside the small church. The street was filled with the wretched and miserable, an overspill from the Court of Miracles which loomed menacingly, just a few roads south. Constance kept a firm hold of her robe and eyes on the ground as she left the church grounds and stepped into the bustling, wailing street. Beggars beseeched, drunkards swayed past her, men brushing uncomfortably close and though she didn't look up, she felt eyes upon her. Constance cursed her naivety for looking so respectable in such a deprived part of the city.

_I might as well be a moving target._

She paused to glare in a most unladylike fashion at the vagabond who had slipped an arm around her waist, his hand wriggling beneath her robe.

"If you want to keep that hand," Constance said through gritted teeth, "Remove it." She reached behind her and pulled his thumb back as viciously as she could, enjoying the wince of pain that crossed his face, "before I do."

Boots and clinking metal sounded behind her.

Her heart sank.

_Don't tell me he has friends._

"Everything all right here?" A familiar voice asked.

Constance turned, relief coursing through her at the sight of Porthos. He eyed her in surprise. "Constance?"

Aramis and Athos, who were a few paces behind, quickened at the sight of her. Porthos growled at the vagabond as he contemplated edging away.

"Not an inch," Porthos said warningly.

"Is everything alright?" Athos asked, joining them. Aramis eyed the vagabond and moved behind him, so that the rogue and Constance were circled by the three musketeers.

"Well now," Constance turned her now emboldened and steely attention to the vagabond. "That all depends, doesn't it?" Her smile widened, "I believe we were just having a conversation about the whereabouts of your hand, Monsieur."

The vagabond nodded fervently, pulling his arm from her waist. "My apologies Madame," he said with a nervous, exaggerated bow.

"Such lovely manners," Constance said with deliberate insincerity, "It's a shame they aren't always on display."

"He has troubled you then? Aramis asked from behind. Constance glared at the vagabond, satisfied to allow him fear being hauled off by the musketeers for just a moment longer.

"No," she said finally, watching as the man lifted a relieved expression to her. "He has learned his lesson, I hope?"

He nodded in ready agreement and cast a nervous glance around the stern faced soldiers. Athos finally nodded sharply and wasting no time, the man shot away, melting into the busy street in a few steps. The men watched him go, their postures relaxing.

Porthos glanced down, "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Constance said, "Lucky for him, you came along. I was getting rather attached to his thumb." She grinned wickedly, "I might have kept it."

Aramis laughed. "There we were wondering which damsel in distress Porthos had stormed off to save."

"I spotted that villain sneaking his arm around a lady," Porthos said, "That's seldom a good thing down here."

"You're not wrong," Constance said, "I'd forgotten how just awful it is down here. Bonacieux used to visit occasionally to visit an eccentric seamstress. I never understood how she could bear it."

Athos looked at her sharply, "Are you here alone?" He eyed her knowingly, "Tell me you were accompanied and merely stepped away from a guard for a moment."

"You're overestimating both my importance and my vulnerability," Constance said with a smile, "I'm perfectly fine. I came with a message from the Queen to Frere Claude."

Aramis shook his head in displeasure, while Porthos stared at her more closely. "You mean to tell me?" he waved a hand in an attempt to clarify, "you came down here alone?" He glanced at the other musketeers, then back to Constance. "Constance, I'm _from_ here, I'm armed to the hilt and these two," Porthos motioned to the others, "still followed me down here in case something happened to me.

"I hope that makes you feel as foolish as you should," Aramis told her seriously. "Pickpockets are the least of your worries in these streets."

Misgivings gnawed at Constance. There was absolutely no way on earth she could allow the Queen of France to visit here unattended.

_And there is no way on earth you can betray her confidence. Every other confidante has let her down in one way or another. She relies on your discretion, on your trust._

Constance hadn't ever contemplated that one as fortunate and loved as the Queen of France could be so utterly lonely. Suddenly aware of Athos addressing her, she stirred from her distracted musings,

"Excuse me?"

Athos eyed her patiently, "If you walk with us to untether the horses, we'll escort you back to the garrison and from there, can arrange to have someone escort you to the palace."

"Perhaps D'Artagnan will be free," Porthos said with an easy grin.

That thought caused her heart to skip more than she liked. When would she settle into a life without him? Chasing that old thought away, Constance merely settled for shooting an expected disapproving look in Porthos's direction. He chuckled and led her on.

* * *

By the time they reached the garrison, Constance had mulled over a dozen options.

_Feign sickness._

_Feign a family death._

_Declare yourself a protestant and advise the queen that you can't possibly visit a catholic church._

_Feign Frere Claude's death._

_Arrange Frere Claude's death._

She hadn't come to any great conclusion when they stepped beneath the garrison arch.

"Where's D'Artagnan?" Porthos asked Serge who ambled past.

"Up with the boss," Serge waved at Treville's office. "Captain is teaching him the paperwork side of business."

Porthos snorted, "Rather him than me." He nudged Serge, "Let him know he has company, will you?"

Constance perched on a bench and glanced around the garrison. The yard was a welcome refuge from Paris, it was so overwhelmingly masculine and structured and simple. It surprised her just how at home she felt here, particularly in recent months when visits to the garrison served as a relaxing escape from the formalities of palace life. She watched the musketeers now as they carefully tended to the horses, removing their weapons and then the horse tack in long practiced routines. Despite the obvious differences between the three men, military ran through them, guiding their movements, eyes and actions. The military had bonded them and led to their infamous brotherhood.

Nearest her, Aramis brushed down his horse. "The Queen is well, Constance?"

It was a polite, routine question asked often of her. It simply required a polite, routine answer and yet, in the summer afternoon, amongst these friends, Constance struggled to reply.

Aramis paused and glanced over the horse, thinking perhaps she hadn't heard him. Catching sight of her expression, he tensed, "Constance?"

Athos appeared in a half beat, "The Queen is not well?" Horse abandoned, Porthos joined to hear her response.

There they were tense, battle ready, every sense firing and every single part of her trusted them.

"The Queen is fine," Constance said in quick reassurance, "Perfectly fine."

They waited expectantly.

Constance had made a decision of sorts. "You gave me advice once Athos," she conjured up a thoughtful expression, "It's not always easy to follow good advice."

Athos frowned and searched his memory. Understanding settled on his face. "The Queen is planning something you disagree with?"

That caught Aramis's full attention. He shifted impatiently, "Constance…"

Constance ignored him. "For instance, Porthos here," she waved at the musketeer and continued conversationally," advised me not to go to Frere Claude's monastery alone and I agree that it is no place for unaccompanied women, yet," Constance feigned a mildly confused expression, "I suspect I shall be there for Sunday mass tomorrow, practically unaccompanied."

Realisation dawned upon them. Aramis stared at her. "Tell me," he said, voice hardening, "You are joking." He rounded on the others, "Is she quite mad?"

"The King would never allow it." Porthos observed with conviction.

"The King is away," Athos said grimly.

"Well, she can't go." Aramis said hotly, "Captain Treville will just have to…"

"No," Constance was on her feet now, eyes flashing, and expression firm. "You cannot betray my confidence as I have betrayed hers. She can't ever know I have told you or she will never trust me again."

Aramis moved to argue but Athos stopped him, adding sagely, "Better that we know of the Queen's plans and protect her ourselves. Should she deny Constance her confidences, how shall we ever know of the danger she puts herself in?"

"This won't be a regular habit," Constance said, eying Athos, "Only if needed."

The musketeer nodded. "I'll trust your wisdom in these matters, Constance."

"You can't be seen," Constance threw a beseeching glance around them. "She mustn't know you are there." Catching Aramis's eye roll, Constance defended her monarch, "She simply wants to experience life as a normal woman for once."

"Normal women don't wander around the Court of Miracles," Aramis said sharply, half raising a hand in instant apology, "I'm sorry Constance. I appreciate the position, she has put you in. It's just a little frustrating."

Constance nodded, knowing how this was more than a matter of duty for Aramis. "All I ask," she murmured, "Is that you all stay out of sight."

Athos gave a nod of agreement. "We can be discreet."

She eyed them dubiously.

"What?" Porthos shifted self-consciously, his stance growing defensive. "We can be discreet."

Stomach sinking, Constance looked at them carefully, at their impossibly military frames, their soldier garb, their keen, steady gazes. Everything about them attracted attention. As though to prove her point, D'Artagnan bounded down the steps from the captains office, he jumped the final four steps and slid straight onto the bench beside her, coming to a pause with a confident grin, "You called?" he asked her.

She eyed him and then the others in despair. "Well that's confirmed then," Constance said, "We're all doomed."

END OF CHAPTER TWO


	3. Chapter 3

_I struggled to finish this. I had one idea for this story but Aramis insisted on making it about him! Anyway, here it is, final chapter. Feedback welcome._

"This is ludicrous," Aramis said.

"So you have told me," Athos said drily, "repeatedly."

"Well it is," Aramis snapped, waving a hand to the street, "It is absolute madness, allowing the queen to wander around the city unguarded."

"We _are_ guarding her," Athos said calmly as he turned to eye his friend speculatively. Aramis had been uncharacteristically short tempered ever since Constance's revelation the day before. He had scowled through the planning of their mission, objected to every decision until they had discussed all possible worst case scenarios to death and now stood grimly beside Athos, his entire being bristling with frustration. "Aramis," Athos said warningly, "I know all too well the influence of a woman upon one's reason. You are of no use to me if you are ruled by emotion." He waited for Aramis's nod of agreement. It came with a glance of apology. Athos slapped his friend in light approval and jerked his head toward the street, "Come on then, they're moving on."

The pair stepped out from the doorway, maintaining a safe distance from the two women ahead. They had watched as Constance and the queen emerged from the palace grounds, dressed simply in the robes of respectable Parisian women, while Aramis cursed the incompetence of the red guards on the palace security detail. The musketeers shadowed the pair as they meandered through the city, the queen pausing with interest at a stall or shop window, while Constance hovered uncomfortably beside her. Constance was tense, her expression watchful. Athos had watched as she sought them out in the crowd more than once, her eyes flitting over people hopefully. She did so now and hoping to quell some of her anxiety, Athos paced sideways and caught her attention. Constance smiled in half relief, nodded quickly and returned her attention to the queen. Athos scanned the square, on the far side, D'Artagnan and Porthos were milling unobtrusively by some vendors. The crowd, oblivious to their royal visitor, carried on with their usual Sunday morning business.

"All seems well," Athos murmured quietly.

"We're not near the Court of Miracles yet," came Aramis's grim answer.

The crowd thickened and they moved closer. The queen walked slowly and linking arms with Constance, she inched through the loud and chattering masses, glancing about with interest, absorbing the colourful life of Paris, while Aramis remained entirely absorbed by her. Sunday morning might be a quiet day of religious tribute in the palace but for the poor of Paris, it was an opportunity to sell something, to beg for a bargain or donation or to resolve some dispute, safe in the knowledge that the sin of violence could be quickly confessed after mass. It was a world away from the queen's life and she appeared fascinated by it. She was entirely oblivious to their presence, engrossed as she was in the city around her and yet she was within Aramis's easy grasp now, he need only push someone aside in order to reach her among the swelling crowd. He held his position safe in the knowledge that should Anne turn, she would not see him. The musketeers were well rehearsed in being invisible and in this moment, in the guarding of his queen, Aramis was with every fibre of his being, a musketeer. It was a sense of being, one which slipped over him, consumed him, drove every sense in these moments of duty. He was utterly alert now, emotion buried, aware of every movement around him, his eyes roving over those closest to the queen as beside him, Athos watched those in the distance. Porthos and D'Artagnan had moved ahead and were most likely inside the chapel by now.

Aramis watched as Constance pushed her way through the chapel gates, the queen's hand in hers. He and Athos stepped inside and took their positions. The Queen had arrived safely. All that was left was to get her home.

* * *

Frere Claude had welcomed them warmly. Constance had wondered if he might recognise his visitor but the man, more accustomed to working with the poor than the rich merely bowed a brief welcome and directed them to the alcove. The queen questioned him quietly about his congregation.

"They are poor Madame, in materials and spirit," Frere Claude told her, "I tend to their souls as they have little opportunity or ability to read the word of the Lord themselves. I care for their physical needs for their struggles are so horrific, no true man of god could turn his back upon their plight."

The queen regarded him in admiration. "You are a testament to your order, Frere Claude. Tell me, how can I help?"

The brother pointed to the alcove, "Merely watch Madame. Our Sunday mass is for the ill. I trust that a viewing of the congregation will make their needs very clear."

It did. The congregation gathered slowly, most of them clearly battling through life with an illness or deformity. Grey faces ravaged with disease, lined the pews. Older people limped to a seat, their slow hobbling painful to watch. Children, some deformed, rested listlessly against their parents. Frere Claude prayed for their healing and voices rose fervently during these prayers. It was Constance thought gazing around the packed chapel, like a pit of abject misery.

"How utterly cruel," the queen murmured beside her, "Life is for some." She glanced at Constance, "I am so very fortunate," Anne's eyes slipped past Constance, resting on a small, sickly looking child, "as is my son."

Not for the first time, Constance found herself regarding the queen with quiet admiration. Constance had gladly accepted the queen's offer of employment. The palace represented all that Constance could dream of in life with its politics, intrigue and adventure, colourful characters, the exciting entertainers, exotic food and lavish fashion and furnishings, everything about royal life was excessive, indulgent and utterly fascinating. She hadn't however considered the possibility of friendship and yet it grew, quietly, loyally. The queen proved to be kind hearted and supportive of the members of her household. She paid attention to the minor details of their lives and regularly enquired after ill relatives, new babies or other domestic details. The queen was principled, Constance discovered and passionate about the causes dear to her heart. She regularly much to the despair of those responsible for her safety, insisted on visiting prisons, or the hospitals for the destitute. Anne wanted to understand those under her rule; she desired to know the shape and substance of their lives and was frequently frustrated by the careful orchestrations of her official visits. She was also lonely. It had surprised Constance, the depth of isolation in which the queen lived and it was in that isolation that their friendship formed. Constance wasn't quite sure how it happened, she simply knew it had and now it gave her purpose. She no longer sought to play with weapons or slip away on musketeer adventures. She had her own.

"France is fortunate," Constance said, turning slightly, "to have a queen as compassionate as Your Majesty."

"Compassion will not change the lives of these people," Anne said, "I have much to think about." She nodded at Constance. "We shall disperse what alms we have today and then consider how we might better assist them."

"I shall give the alms to Frere Claude," Constance said, "It is best if we don't draw too much attention to ourselves."

Anne began to demur, pausing at Constance's pleading expression. "Very well Constance," the queen said with a smile, "I have tormented you enough for one morning."

They waited for the mass to end, Constance resisting the urge to look for the musketeers in whichever spots they had sequestered themselves. It was enough to know that the queen was under their watchful protection. She waited for the brother to move through the crowd, pausing to shake a hand or bless an unfortunate, as he wove his way back to them. He stepped into the alcove, his expression honest. "You understand now Madame?" he asked Anne.

"Indeed, I do." Anne nodded at Constance, who pressed a small bundle of coins into his hands, "I shall visit again Frere Claude and shall donate more handsomely now I have seen the need for myself."

Frere Claude nodded in gratitude and blessed them both. "I shall remember you both in my morning mass," he slipped past them and producing a key, unlocked a sturdy door at the rear of the alcove. Constance's stomach lurched and she glanced around. No sign of them.

"Frere, we can leave by the usual manner," she began.

"This is the simplest way to leave Madame. It may take an hour for you to move through the crowd, such is their need."

Anne nodded gratefully, "Many thanks Frere; I look forward to renewing our acquaintance in the near future."

"Move carefully," his eyes drifted to the busy square outside, "Paris can be dangerous, even on a Sunday morning."

Constance followed the queen, dread thumping in her heart.

_Just a flash of blue in the distance_, she begged silently, _and I'll know all will be well_.

* * *

Across the chapel, there was consternation. Porthos growled, while the others sprang from their various positions, ploughing through the crowd with muttered apologies, following the queen. Aramis was there first, Athos reaching him as he was just about to threaten the brother for the key.

"Frere Claude," Athos said, landing a calming hand on Aramis's shoulder, "We have a duty to protect the woman who was just here. I beg of you, open that door."

The brother eyed them, rounding on the others. "You are the King's musketeers?"

Four heads nodded in brusque agreement.

"Honourable men, or so I have heard," Frere Claude moved toward the door, "Very well gentleman, you may do your duty."

Armour, boots, bodies fled past him. He watched them go, melting quickly into the crowd, into Paris.

They ploughed through people literally. Aramis pushed through those in his path, a careful nudge for the careless, heavy push for the belligerent. None here would challenge a musketeer. Behind, Porthos hollered 'Move, King's business' and a path cleared respectfully for a moment or two. Aramis glanced around, then quickly to Porthos, "Anything?"

Porthos shook his head. "Nothing."

"Constance will be frantic," Aramis muttered, ignoring the panic drumming in his own chest.

They moved on, joining with Athos and D'Artagnan.

"They can't have got far," he began.

"They didn't," Relief lightened Athos's tone, his hand pointing across the street, to where the women were standing outside a shop window.

"Women," Porthos snorted, his frame relaxing now. "She has a palace full of dresses and a cheap boutique still manages to grab her attention."

The men exchanged relieved glances, heartrates slowing.

"Come on then," Aramis said, pacing away, "Best not to be caught staring."

"Poor Constance," D'Artagnan said sympathetically, recognising tension in her posture, "I'd imagine she wants nothing more than to see the palace gates at this stage."

"Let's just get them there," Athos said from behind.

* * *

They almost made it there. The women didn't dawdle this time; their pace was quick and focused, the queen evidently anxious to return to the palace before her absence could be noted. Constance appeared perfectly happy with that decision and at times gave a good impression of Porthos with her determined stride. They had reached the end of the market area when Aramis spotted the inevitable.

"Your Majesty?" The aghast, questioning voice of General Houle of the Red Guards stopped the queen in her tracks.

"General Houle…"

General Houle, second in command to Rochefort stood there, a small regiment around him, his mouth flapping open. He stared at the paling queen and Constance, taking in their clothing and lack of entourage with growing disbelief.

"Your Majesty, I don't understand," he began, "Is all well?"

Constance found her voice. She forced authority into it. "Have you forgotten yourself General?"

The soldier flushed and bowed jerkily, "Apologies your Majesty but I must enquire, where is your security detail?" He frowned in half confusion, "You do have one?"

"Obviously," Constance said, throwing a final prayer to the sky, "The Queen has a security detail."

"I can't see…"

"You need not concern yourself," The queen interjected hastily; "There is no cause for worry. You and your men may continue with your business."

Houle glanced from one to the other, suspicion gliding across his face, "Your Majesty, I cannot allow..."

It was enough. With a single glance, Aramis and Athos moved as one. Sweeping back their hoods, they materialised, one on either side of the queen, D'Artagnan and Porthos appearing behind them. Aramis regarded the general calmly, ignoring the glance of surprise from his monarch and the puff of relief from Constance. He shifted from one foot to the other, lifting a questioning eyebrow. "Didn't you hear the queen, General?"

The other man was thoroughly confused. He glanced around the men, and then shifted apologetic eyes back to the queen. "My apologies, Your Majesty. I was merely concerned for your safety." He shot an accusatory glance at Athos, "Your security detail was practically invisible."

"That," Athos said calmly, "was the entire point."

"A security measure," Aramis added helpfully, "Ensuring that we can protect the queen, while remaining invisible to those," he waved at the regiment, "who are highly trained in reconnaissance themselves."

"Allegedly highly trained," Porthos said from behind.

The general tensed at that. He straightened stiffly. "We are available to escort you, Your Majesty, if our services are required."

"Unnecessary Captain," The queen spoke up. She glanced reprovingly at Constance, "I am sufficiently protected."

She acknowledge the general's final bow with a half nod and watched him depart, his regiment following. Once they were out of earshot, Anne turned to her friend.

"Constance," she said reproachfully, "You have betrayed me."

"Not at all…"

"Your Majesty, we happened upon you both…"

"Constance should not be held responsible…"

"Really Your Majesty, it was quite a coincidence…"

"Yes," Constance raised a hand, saving the musketeers from their enthusiastic defence of her. She nodded remorsefully, "I did, Your Majesty. I hinted enough of your plan to know I could count upon their protection. I just couldn't." Constance shook her head, "abide the thought of harm befalling you because you have one foolish servant who can be talked into almost anything."

Anne glanced around the soldiers. "Not everything apparently," she said, dryness in her voice. "Do others know?"

"No," Constance promised, "I only told the four men I know are as loyal to you as I."

"You were there the entire time?" Anne asked irritably, "surely not from the palace?"

Athos grimaced in agreement. "Through the market."

"Through all the window shopping," Porthos said with a quick grin, which vanished at the sight of his queen's stormy gaze.

"In the chapel," D'Artagnan said apologetically, "Aramis sat two rows behind you."

Anne's eyes darted uncomfortably to Aramis. He appeared utterly unruffled; indeed she detected a hint of challenge in his gaze. He regarded her calmly then indicated ahead, "We shall attract attention if we don't move on, Your Majesty."

She stepped alongside him, the others behind, D'Artagnan instantly moving to console a downcast Constance. The queen and Aramis walked in silence, until finally he spoke.

"I thought," he said carefully, "we previously discussed the idiocy of unaccompanied trips outside of the palace."

Anne almost smiled. Few spoke to her as candidly as Aramis. Few dared.

"I remember you sharing your opinion on the matter," she said, "I also seem to recall advising you that the Queen knows her own mind."

"The Queen," Aramis said in a low, firm tone, "placed her life in jeopardy today."

"The Queen was perfectly fine. For once she managed to witness life as it truly is for the most miserable of her subjects. The only issue arose when one group of over protective soldiers met another group of overprotective soldiers." She glanced sideways, "You know the cage I live in Aramis. There are days I simply long to escape it."

Aramis swallowed and dragged his eyes from hers. "We all live in cages, separate from the lives we might wish to live."

Painful silence hung between them. Once again, the soldier broke it.

"Your Majesty," Aramis said gently, "Your safety is of paramount importance to France and to your son. Should you wish to experience life, we shall gladly accompany you, hidden as we were today." Aramis glanced at her, emotion buried in his eyes, "I would never forgive myself should harm befall you. Your son, without you," he paused, leaving that thought hanging, "I beg you to consider my offer." He half smiled, a quiet plea in his eyes, "Besides, Parisians regularly travel in small groups of friends. Perhaps you could consider us friends to you in those moments?"

Anne considered. She felt herself glow within, passion and intimacy intertwining, warming her. He warmed her as no other did, or could. She carried him in her heart and Anne was used to loving from a distance. She had longed for Spain and for her family from the age of fourteen, longed for her son when the governess took him from her arms. Her longing for Aramis, strong and unyielding was easy to hide but there were times, as now, when she allowed herself a moment to see him, to feel him, to allow that locked away love escape. Just for a moment.

Anne smiled at him briefly. "Perhaps," she said lightly, "perhaps."

* * *

"I'm sorry I was short Constance," the queen said, in the safety of her apartment. "It was unfair of me to put you in that position."

Constance eyed her guiltily, "It is I who should apologise, Your Majesty. I wished only to ensure your safety. I merely intended them to be in the vicinity," she shrugged in mild embarrassment, "I may have conjured up every awful event that could possibly happen near the Court of Miracles. It was almost an anti- climax when the visit went so smoothly."

The queen could not help but smile at her friend's disquiet. "All went well. I achieved my aim; I experienced Parisian life and briefly enjoyed the illusion of freedom. Perhaps it was best you confided in our loyal musketeers."

"They would never have forgiven me had I not spoken," Constance said, adding quietly, "especially Aramis."

They shared a gaze, friendship ebbing between them, warmth, an understanding of the queen's unspoken heart.

"Come," the queen said, "The King is anxious I meet with the ambassador."

Constance nodded and followed the queen, in her service.

THE END


End file.
